


The Bad List

by oceans4jinyoung



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Christmas, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV First Person, Stream of Consciousness, mark pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/pseuds/oceans4jinyoung
Summary: The silence was more telling than the noise.  It told us everything we needed to know.  It was laced in the tired sighs that would set us off.  It was tucked into the guest bedroom where the sheets didn’t smell like you.  It made up the din of every prolonged silence that no longer felt comfortable.  It’s what made us realize it had been months, seasons.  But by then, we knew we were on borrowed time.  Living in a winter that never turned to spring."Say goodbye on Christmas Eve."
Relationships: Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	The Bad List

You were always the one who liked Christmas. Not me.

I’m sorry I ruined it for you.

I’m sorry.

You were the one who liked all the songs, all the cheer. You liked the frigid cold of the city. It was me who had been raised in dry desert summers. Me whose bones hadn’t yet adapted to that winter frost. The one that made you smile from behind your scarf. That would flush your cheeks and ears red. The one you promised to keep me warm through.

And you did. Don’t worry. You did.

_Sigh._

I’m getting ahead of myself.

Remember when I was a bartender? At the shitty place in that shitty neighborhood making shitty wages for shitty people? And you fought your way through the crowd to buy a drink, no different than how you fought your way into my-

No, I’ll stop. That’s lame.

You slammed down some bills on the counter. I couldn’t tell if you were drunk. Were you drunk? I never asked. _Fuck, I forgot to ask._

“What do you want?” I shouted over the music. And if you had said a house in the suburbs, a white picket fence, three children, and a dog, I probably would have given it to you.

“Something seasonal.”

“We don’t-”

“Don’t tell me,” you blew the hair from your eyes. “Make it a surprise.”

So I made you something fruity, iced, strong. I slid it out in front of you.

You glared at me. “You call this seasonal?” It was cute. You were cute. Younger then. But I was too.

“It’s seasonal to me,” I shrugged. “I need about four of these to handle _my_ family at the holidays.”

You stared at me for a long moment. “Where are you from?”

“America.”

“You’re not going home for Christmas?”

I shook my head. “Not this year.”

You kept staring. Maybe that’s why I thought you were drunk. But now, I guess I kind of get it. You leaned behind the bar, grabbed a napkin and a pen. You wrote down your number.

“Call me,” you said. “If you need someone to spend Christmas with.”

I never told you this, but I called Jaebeom first.

“I met someone.”

“Oh?”

“I think I’m going to spend Christmas with him.”

“You hate Christmas.”

“Shut up.”

That’s really how it started, isn’t it?

_God._

Things were so much simpler then.

We picked up each other like languages. Fumbling at first, but eager, willing. And with every word, we’d make new synapses touch, rush. All we wanted to do was keep practicing and practicing and-

It wasn’t till the next winter, when we were living together in that small apartment that overlooked the subway station. It was noisy as shit. And just after a train passed, I asked you to spend Christmas with me.

“You don’t have to ask,” you shook your head. You were confused.

With my family. In California.

You got worked up. “No snow? No hot chocolate?” you glared. “Lights on palm trees?” You were pouting so hard, I was worried your mouth might get stuck like that. Even if it did, I wouldn’t have minded. It was cute. You were cute. “Hardly sounds like Christmas to me.”

And I kissed you and I laughed. “But I’ll be there,” I said, kept kissing you. “I’ll make it feel like Christmas.”

And you still huffed, but you were smiling too. Kissing me too. “You better.”

I was unwrapping cold foil between my fingertips. Ocean waves were crashing out in front of us. Bare feet in damp sand. “I guess I left them in my freezer in college and my friend kept them.”

“It’s been years,” you said. “How do you even know they're still good?”

I held them up. Two little snowflakes. Fitting. “Only one way to find out.”

You stared at me. The breeze ruffling your hair.

“You scared?”

You got that determined little look on your face. The one you wore when you were trying to prove me wrong. I didn’t know how familiar it would become in later months.

“I’m not scared of anything.”

And I knew you weren’t. It was always me. I was always scared.

The snowflakes melted on our tongues. We tripped the day away on Topanga Beach.

Your aura was golden. Though I didn’t need the acid to know that.

“Mark, Jinyoung!” my niece shouted. “Time to open presents.”

You got me that watch. I almost fought you on it. It was too nice. Too expensive. But you didn’t budge. Just slipped it on my wrist. And I didn’t want to admit I loved it, but I did. It was perfect.

It stays in the drawer now. Face down.

I got you a camera. So you could finally replace that one you’d dropped a million times. The one that was held together with rubber bands. Because you always hated how the shutter would get stuck. You cried in front of everyone. “Happy tears,” you said when my niece asked what was wrong.

Do you still have it? Do you still have those pictures we first took on it? The ones that weren’t for anyone else’s eyes but ours?

I think about them sometimes.

“Mark, Jinyoung,” my mom smiled when we stood at the door with our luggage packed, running late for our flight. “I’m so glad you came.”

When did it stop becoming Mark and Jinyoung, Jinyoung and Mark? I always preferred your name first. When did it start becoming just Mark? Just-

“Where is he?”

“Your partner?”

“Do you have a partner?”

What happened to us, Jinyoung?

_Oh._

_Right._

_How could I forget?_

“You’re so selfish.”

You were right.

“At least, I’m being real. At least, I’m being honest.”

I wasn’t.

“I can’t stand the sight of you.”

Did you mean that?”

“Well, then that makes two of us.”

I was talking about me, not you.

By the time the silence came, we knew it was over. Because the silence was more telling than the noise. It told us everything we needed to know. It was laced in the tired sighs that would set us off. It was tucked into the guest bedroom where the sheets didn’t smell like you. It made up the din of every prolonged silence that no longer felt comfortable. It’s what made us realize it had been months, seasons. But by then, we knew we were on borrowed time. Living in a winter that never turned to spring.

I still denied it every chance I got.

“We’re fine,” I said, taking the phone into the next room. If we were fine, why was I going into the next room?

“Mark,” Jaebeom groaned. “Don’t lie.”

That was in the beginning. By the end, I was crouched in the space between the toilet and the tub. I was sobbing into the crux of my arm, biting down so he wouldn’t hear me.

“If you stay, you’re gonna die.”

I held my breath. Kept my voice steady.

“I know.”

It was my idea. My selfish idea. “Let’s wait,” I said, turned away from you in the kitchen, so you wouldn’t see my expression. “Until after Christmas Eve.”

“Why?”

And when I looked out the window, the only snow that was falling was the cinders of what used to keep us warm.

“Our families,” I said. “Best not spoil their holiday.”

But that wasn’t the reason. It was me. I didn’t want to let you go. And now, I know I was wrong. That it was wrong for me to do.

You loved Christmas.

I regret that. I regret a lot of things.

“Okay,” you agreed. “After Christmas Eve.”

We spent the day with your family. You kept such a stiff upper lip. I always admired that about you.

“What did you get each other?” your sister asked, clutching onto a mug of that mulled wine I’d made her.

“Oh, we’re opening gifts when we get home,” you said, smiling so wide it looked real to everyone in the room but me.

It was a lie. We had agreed. No gifts this year. There was nothing we wanted. Nothing that wasn’t already lost.

“Stay the night,” your father said. “It’s Christmas Eve for God’s sake.”

But you just smiled. “No, it’s fine,” you shook your head. “We should really be heading out.”

I don’t think I could ever forget how hard you held my hand in the taxi ride home. It was bruising, your grip. I thought it might leave marks. In fact, I hoped it would. But looking back, it was the least painful thing about it all.

When I looked over, I saw the reflection in the glass. The twinkling lights that lined the streets warming your complexion. But even so, there were tears down your face. Tears you were hiding from me.

When we pulled up, we could see our Christmas tree glowing in the window. And in that moment, I understood what you liked about Christmas. But before I could find the words, the feeling was gone. It never came back.

We didn’t speak when we came in the door. We took off heavy coats, feeling it lift no weight from our shoulders. And as we toed off snow-soaked shoes, I tried to keep my eyes from drifting to your luggage next to the door.

You were the one to grab my wrist. And when I looked to your eyes, they were red from crying in the car. And I knew what you were asking for. I knew what you wanted. So I nodded.

You dragged me into the living room. We didn’t bother with the lights. The warm white glow of the tree was enough for the both of us. You stood across from me, staring. And I knew you were trying to get one last look at me.

I was thankful there wasn’t any music on. Because I didn’t want to trap that feeling up into something that could be replayed. Especially some cheesy Christmas ballad. As if it could even come close.

You kissed me. And I was glad you did. Because I don’t think I would have been man enough to do it myself.

And it hurt. God damn, it hurt so bad when I tasted the salt of your tears on your cheeks. When I felt you shudder in my arms. When I pulled you over me and let your shaky hands pull off my shirt. And I pulled off yours too.

You sunk into me and I hadn’t felt that full in months. But it was too late. It was all too late. The house was already on fire. All we could have done was run.

I cursed cause it was all I had. A fate that felt too cruel for something that had started so earnest. I called out your name cause I knew. I knew it would be the last time I could.

Afterward, I sat in a pile of blankets on the living room floor. My eyes fixed on the Christmas tree. Because I didn’t have the guts to turn around. To watch you piece your clothes back together. Get your coat, your shoes, your luggage.

You didn’t slam the front door on your way out. I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I appreciated that.

Looking back, it was probably self-indulgent. To make that pact. One last Christmas Eve before…

Well, I’m sorry. I ruined it for you.

I’m sorry for...

_Sigh._

I still have your present.

I’ll save it for you. Just in case you ever want it.

A first kiss.

To face the New Year.


End file.
